


Staying Sharp

by ceceliatarleton



Series: Crowe Week 2019 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crowe Altius Lives, Gen, Tumblr: Crowe Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceceliatarleton/pseuds/ceceliatarleton
Summary: Crowe Week Day 2 Prompt: Crowe Survives the Escort MissionCrowe could do an escort mission in her sleep, but, eh, better stay sharp.





	Staying Sharp

Her latest assignment was something she could have done in her sleep. Cleaning van would take her out of the city so there was no record of her leaving except for in the memories of her fellow Glaives who simply knew she was leaving sometime for some classified mission. She’d take her bike to Galdin Quay, and play the tourist. Ferry to Altissa. Train to Tenebrae. Boring to boring. She wasn’t even expected to travel at night through daemon haunted areas or avoid towns, and she was supposed to avoid crossing any Imperials. Sure, things could get a little interesting in Tenebrae, breaking into and then back out of the Nox Fleuret estate, but even then the security was supposed to be token, reportedly. Princess in civilian clothes to Altissa. When she reached the prince, job’s done. She was supposed to give Princess Lunafreya  the hairpin once they made contact and make sure she wore it, but even then she was only going to be the one tracking it if they got separated during the trek from Tenebrae to Altissa. Once Crowe was back in Insomnia she’d turn her watch over and it would be someone else’s job to monitor Princess Lunafreya and Prince Noctis’s honeymoon tour--thank the Six. It was a snoozefest. She could autopilot to Tenebrae at the very least. 

 

It was a good thing she didn’t.

 

Two seconds longer of ignoring her danger instincts as perverse wishful thinking or nerves and she would have been dead. A few moments longer squinting at the gray, nondescript van that coincidentally came into view as the bold yellow cover story that had just dropped her off drifted out of sight and, yep, dead. Anything but what she did do--chuck her motorcycle helmet off into distant road detritus and warpstrike to it--she wouldn’t have avoided the gunshot. A second spent indulging her swimming head and groaning that she really rather conjure a tsunami than warp five feet and she didn’t know how some people did it all the time, and she would have been hit by the second shot.

 

A thrown fireball to the gas tank of the shooter’s van ensured there wasn’t a third shot, but she figured she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Whoever she’d blown sky high was presumably reporting to someone and when they didn’t...well, her sleep-through-it escort mission would be getting a lot more interesting.

  
  


She stripped the watch off her wrist--it would need to be replaced or some other plan B found for the final stage of what still was her mission as far as she was concerned, but that could be several steps down the road--and then took stock of any metal fastener she could rip off her clothes to leave with it. Shoes were stripped off and went with watch, hairpin in its case and any other “evidence” she could muster that might survive twisted and melted in the fire and delay the realization she hadn’t gone to meet Bahamut with her would-be assassin to be fed to the fiery wreck. She filed height and weight range of her assailant away, but that was as far as IDing the half charred corpse slumped over face down in the van shaped fire went. She was more concerned with the question of ‘is he really dead?’

He was probably nobody anyway.

 

She rode the bike until it started to sputter a lack of gas, then pulled into a run-down rest stop and paid cash for use of a caravan for the night. After settling in--which translated to a security check of the rest stop as a whole and the caravan--she compiled a mental list of supplies to grab tomorrow. She’d have to rework a budget to make sure she didn’t run out of gil now before Altissa, but there had been a miscellaneous fund as well as what was supposed to be used on lodging and travel for the escort. New shoes and a burner phone so she could make contact with Drautos without worrying about being traced were deemed first priority. She regretted ditching her boots, because the bike would have to go as soon as she found a hunter who didn’t look like the type to look a gift chocobo in the beak--too easy to track. 

 

She didn’t expect the rest stop to be as well stocked as she wanted, but the morning surprised her. The convenience mart had something much better than shoes right next to their selection of fishing gear--if a few bobs could be called that.

 

“Your highness,” a grin split Crowe’s face. “Care to give a girl a lift?”

 


End file.
